


Leather and Lace

by zinke



Category: Castle, Sanctuary (TV), Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crack, Crossover, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are only so many innuendo-laden comments about leather and lace a woman can take.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leather and Lace

**Author's Note:**

> A long time ago, in response to a meme I posted on my LJ, gabolange asked me [the following question](http://zinke.livejournal.com/255346.html?thread=2188402#t2188402). And lo, a crackfic idea was born. So, in (belated) honor of her birthday and to also thank her for her support of the tiaras4tatas team I present what is quite possibly one of the crackiest things I have ever written – other than that ‘BSG fights the streptococcus thing’. In any case: Happy Birthday, oh friend and beta of mine!! *throws confetti*
> 
> [The Mid-Atlantic Women’s Motorcycle Rally](http://www.mawmr.org/) is a real event held annually outside Gettysburg. It gives female riders the opportunity to come together and share their love of heavy metal while also supporting a great cause, the Susan G. Komen Foundation. Yes, it’s possible I chose this rally [for a reason](http://globalrace.info-komen.org/site/TR/GlobalRaceForTheCure/GlobalRace?team_id=137981&pg=team&fr_id=2024). *g*

Though the exterior is nothing to write home about, the illuminated sign above the door of Gettysburg’s Sharpshooter Tavern boasts three-dollar drafts and the best wings for three counties. Having been on the road since early that morning, the promise of a cold beer and good food is enough to make Sam overlook the largely empty parking lot and, after signaling to the others, she steers her Indian off the Baltimore Pike and into the parking lot.

Kate and Helen pull in a few seconds later. No sooner have the three women cut their engines than a cell phone begins to ring. Pulling off her helmet, Kate reaches into her pocket and glances at the ID. Sam and Helen watch with amusement as Kate rolls her eyes and puts the phone to her ear. “No,” she says without preamble.

Sighing audibly, Kate climbs off her bike, still listening to whoever it is on the other end of the line. Helen and Sam follow suit, each carefully stowing their helmet before making their way to the bar’s battered door.

“Castle,” Kate says as she pulls open the door with her free hand and nods for the others to enter, “I’ve got to go. The tattoo contest is about to begin.” Grinning, she hangs up the phone without another word and follows her friends inside.

“Tattoo contest?” Sam asks, raising a curious eyebrow.

Kate shrugs and scans the smoky room for a place to sit. “Wet t-shirts seemed a little too cliché.” She points to an empty booth at the back and together, the three make their way over. “Besides,” Kate says as she unzips her riding jacket and slides onto the naugahyde banquette, “he had it coming. There are only so many innuendo-laden comments about leather and lace a woman can take.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Sam says as she sits down beside Kate. “Though in my case the remarks were more along the lines of ‘what are you wearing?’.”

Kate grins. “Original.”

“Jack prefers to think of them as ‘classic’,” Sam replies.

Slipping out of her jacket, Helen brushes the road dust from the black, butter-soft leather before folding it neatly and setting it on the seat beside her. “Please tell me neither of them asked you for pictures.”

“As a matter of fact, Castle did. But only _after_ I caught him trying to sweet-talk the Precinct’s requisitions officer into giving him a button camera last week.”

Sam eyes the zippers on Kate’s jacket. “And he was going to put it….where, exactly?”

“Strategic thinking isn’t exactly Castle’s strong suit.” Licking her lips, Kate scans the room in search of a waitress. Her eyes widen slightly when she notices three men sitting at the far end of the bar watching them with interest. “And…it doesn’t look like it’s going to be for these guys, either,” she adds, nodding subtly in their direction as the biggest of the three stands and makes his way over, his flannel and denim clad friends in tow.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Sam groans as she hastily grabs three laminated menus from behind the napkin dispenser and distributes them. “This has got to be some sort of record.”

“Lucky for us,” Kate murmurs sarcastically.

The three women make a show of studying their menus as the men come to a stop at their booth. “Ladies,” one of them drawls, pulling a well-gnawed toothpick from between his lips. “I don’t think we’ve ever seen you around here before.”

“We’re in town for the weekend,” Kate replies without looking up from her menu.

The smallest of the three men frowns. “Forgive me for saying so, but you three don’t exactly seem like the battlefield type.”

“You’d be surprised,” Sam mutters, sharing a conspiratorial grin with her companions before raising her voice to explain, “We’re here for the Mid-Atlantic Women’s Motorcycle Rally.”

“A bike rally for _women_?” the burly one on Bobby’s left snorts. “You’re joking.”

Helen narrows her eyes and glares at him. “I assure you, we’re not.”

“Tell you what;” Bobby says with a leer, “you let my friends and I take you girls for a ride. We’ll show you what it feels like to have some real horsepower between your legs.”

Kate looks up and bat her eyelashes at their would-be suitors. “That’s sweet guys, really. But I’ve already got a ride with more than enough horsepower to keep me satisfied.”

While Bobby and his friends are still trying to figure out the meaning of Kate’s double entendre, their waitress, dressed in a flimsy tank top and mini-skirt, arrives. “Hey, Bobby. Chris. Jake.” She gives each of the men a weak smile before pulling a pad and pencil from the pocket of her apron and turning her attention to the women seated at the table. “What can I get you?”

Recovering quickly, Bobby pastes on a grin and claps a hand on the waitresses shoulder. “Whatever they want, Alison. You can put it on Chris’s tab,” he adds, inclining his head towards the beefy man on his left.

Helen grits her teeth and forces a smile. “That’s not necessary. Really.”

“Aw, c’mon.” Bobby sets his bottle of Iron City on the table and eyes the empty space next to Helen on the banquette. “You girls need to loosen up a bit, have some fun.”

“You know what?” Helen declares, scooting across the banquette to block Bobby’s advance. “You’re right. Samantha, Kate? Fancy a game?” She stands and gives an exaggerated nod towards a pool table standing a short distance away.

“Absolutely,” Sam and Kate reply in unison.

Rising to her feet, Kate turns to their waitress. “We’ll have three Yuengling Black & Tans and an order of wings.” She pulls a crumpled twenty dollar bill from her pocket. “If you could bring everything to us at the pool table, that’d be great.”

“Sure thing,” Alison drawls, scribbling down their order as she walks away, the lustful gazes of Bobby and his friends following her as she goes.

“Typical,” Kate mutters as together, she Helen, and Sam take advantage of the opportunity and slip past them.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sam bends down to retrieve the rack from its slot in the side of the pool table. When she straightens, she’s dismayed to find Bobby and his buddies standing next to her, eyeing her appreciatively. “You guys just can’t take a hint, can you?” she says as she begins slipping the billiard balls into the rack.

“Neither can you,” Chris counters with a smirk.

Bobby nods his agreement. “When a gentleman offers to buy a beautiful woman a drink, you’re supposed to say yes.”

“And when one does,” Sam bites out, “we will.”

“Hold on a moment, Sam.” Helen selects a cue stick from the rack and reaches for the chalk. “Let’s not be hasty.” Resting a hip against the pool table, she casts a pointed glance at the felted tabletop.

Kate’s lips curl into a sly smile. “Helen’s right. We really haven’t given Bobby and his friends much of a chance.”

“After all,” Helen adds, “They were only trying to be friendly. Weren’t you boys?”

“Of course they were,” Kate says before any of them can respond. She spins her cue stick back and forth between her fingers as she looks the men over. “So, what do you say? You guys up for a friendly little game of eight ball?”

“Against you?” Jake laughs. “We’d have you beat before any of you sunk a single ball.”

“It wouldn’t be right to take advantage,” Bobby adds.

“You think it’ll be that easy, do you?” Sam asks with a smirk.

“Yes,” Bobby replies confidently, puffing out his chest. “I do.”

Kate cocks her head and smiles. “Then you won’t mind if we make things a little more…interesting?”

“Bobby…” Chris’s gaze drifts nervously from Kate to Sam to Helen. “Maybe this isn’t—”

Bobby waves his friend off. “Just how interesting are we talking, here?”

Helen makes a show of thinking the question over. “Oh, I don’t know. How does…one hundred dollars sound to you?”

“A hundred?” Jake asks, choking on his beer.

“Each,” Sam chimes in.

Chris vehemently shakes his head. “No. No way.”

“Pity.” Helen puts on a pout. “I didn’t think men like you would scare so easily. I guess I was wrong.”

“Now hold on just a minute—”

“Bobby.” Chris puts a hand on his friend’s arm. “Let’s just go.”

Bobby shrugs him off. “No way.” His lips curl into a predatory grin. “You’re on, babe.”

“All right then,” Sam says as she lifts the rack from the table, leaving behind a perfect pyramid of billiard balls. “Everybody ante up and let’s play.”

Twenty minutes later, the game is all but over. Narrowing her eyes, Kate focuses on the eight ball sitting at the far end of the table. Licking her lips, she draws back her arm and, after a beat, strikes the cue ball. It rolls over the felt, eeking past a pair of stripes to collide with the eight ball, driving it smoothly into the corner pocket.

Dumbfounded, their opposition simply stares as Helen reaches over and pulls the wad of bills sitting on the edge of the table towards her. “It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen,” she says with a grin as she passes the cash over her shoulder to Sam.

“I don’t believe it,” Bobby mutters, shaking his head.

“Really?” Kate saunters up to him, deliberately invading his personal space. She smiles coyly and reaches up to straighten the collar on his rumpled flannel shirt. “Maybe a rematch would help to convince you?”

Backpedaling nervously, Bobby exchanges a look with his friends and shakes his head. “No thanks.”

He and his buddies trudge off, leaving Sam, Kate and Helen alone at the table. “I think that went well, don’t you?” Helen asks as Kate sets the cue back in the rack.

“Very,” Sam replies, thumbing through the cash in her hand.

Kate leans back against the pool table and crosses her arms. “Like I said: not exactly strategic thinkers.”

Sam slips their winnings into her pocket. “You’d think the head-to-toe leather would have at least given them a clue.”

“Speaking of…I think it’s high time we put our winnings to good use.” Helen reaches for her jacket. “How do you ladies feel about doing a little shopping?”

Sam casts a sly glance in Helen’s direction. “I do remember seeing a Harley-Davidson outfitter a few miles back.”

“I _could_ use a new pair of riding pants,” Kate muses, running her hands over her leather-clad thighs. “And maybe some gloves.”

“Well then,” Helen says, giving her friends a jaunty smile, “let’s ride.”

 

*fin.*


End file.
